


One Rock of Crack, Please

by O Lord Damn This Alien (IneffableAlien)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Discord: O Lord Heal This Server, M/M, Metafiction, OLHTS made me do it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unbirth, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/O%20Lord%20Damn%20This%20Alien
Summary: Thank you for being so kind.Crackfic challenge fills.
Comments: 56
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Not-Very-Nice and Anatomically-Inaccurate Prophecies of OLHTS





	1. Peepshow

**Author's Note:**

> Let me apologize now to my subscribers. All four and a half of you are going to be terribly cross with me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Dowlings' estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: Non-consensual voyeurism.**
> 
> _Update: This fic won Grossest Imagery in this week's OLHTS 24-hour crackfic challenge. And my teachers said I'd never amount to anything!_

Thaddeus Dowling simply couldn’t seem to stop hiring intrinsically tempting staff.

Regardless of the fights with a jealous Harriet, no matter how many attempts at old-fashioned godly self-repression—what sort of red-blooded man didn’t appreciate some good eye candy roaming around? Thaddeus could only figure that it was secretly all right so long as he didn’t touch. And he had devised the perfect system for fully appreciating the finer qualities of his most attractive staff from a distance.

He didn’t have to touch. He didn’t have to worry about getting caught. He simply had to retire to his favorite study.

The uppermost floor of the Dowlings’ estate was, historically, servants’ quarters. And it was still used that way, more or less, which would imply that the family of such a house would do little to personally utilize its rooms. But in the grand tradition of Americans doing whatever the fuck they want, Thaddeus Dowling had claimed one of the corner rooms as his own, as one of his multiple private offices.

Thaddeus appreciated that Harriet and Warlock rarely ventured into any of the attic rooms, granting him copious alone time to enjoy up there. It gave him a place to showcase his fantastic taxidermy collection, which Harriet hated (there really was no accounting for taste). And last but not least, Thaddeus claimed that by spending time upstairs, he could better keep an eye on his staff.

That was the understatement of the century.

Thaddeus knew his staff’s routines inside and out, of course. He knew when they ate, and he knew when they slept. He was currently making his way through the corridors and up the steps to the study in the servants’ quarters because he knew when his sexiest staff member liked to shower. And Thaddeus Dowling’s sexiest staff member, ever-changing over the years, always, always shared a wall with his study.

As he silently placed his jacket on the back of the desk chair and loosened his collar, Thaddeus’s heart pounded with anticipation. For a moment he merely stood at the wall adjoining the staff member’s room, his ear turned to it as he relished the shuffling sounds of life on the other side. Then, leaning forward silently, he took down a painting to reveal a large hole which framed, through a gap between walls, a much smaller hole, barely the diameter of a thumbprint.

He had been addicted to this hire since day one. Desire incarnate, he supposed, kneeling in front of the hole, and shamefully his type.

It was, of course, Brother Francis.

Brother Francis had gotten into the habit of taking hot showers the human way, having decided that was just what he needed after a long day in the sun, denying every bastardly impulse and being a perfect angel.

_Crowley,_ he thought with a smirk, _you dastardly incorrigible._

Aziraphale didn’t know where Crowley was, only that he was watching him, even though Crowley’s usual dark occult static was completely drowned out in Lust, the likes of which even an angel could perceive. “I know you’re watching me, you rakish creature,” he said, blushing prettily (which was a choice in his corporation, naturally, the tease).

On the opposite side of the wall, Thaddeus froze, eyes wide, cock already hard.

“Brother Francis” couldn’t afford to shape-shift, or lose the teeth, no, none of that; he never risked anything of the kind while still on the Dowlings’ property. He wasn’t naïve about the male form, he knew he was horrendous like this, but it worked just fine for his angelic purposes. Furthermore, he knew Crowley didn’t care. He and Crowley had played these clandestine little games for a very long time, and Crowley had always truly seen Aziraphale, and Crowley had always loved him. Aziraphale started to shrug out of his baggy coat, agonizingly slow. Each article of clothing he removed and left carefully folded in turn on the bed he never used.

(He left the hat and the periwinkle bow on. It made him feel jaunty.)

Brother Francis was already at half-mast. He grasped the base of his impressive cock and gave a quick tug. “Is this what you wanted to watch, you fiend?” he asked the unseen presence.

Thaddeus Dowling leaned forward, rubbing his hand across his trousers, too far gone to notice his gardener’s drastic change in accent (all British types sounded the same anyway). “That’s right, you gorgeous fucking bear,” he murmured under his breath, “show me your gardening tool.”

Unwittingly presenting his hard-on quite close to the offending hole in the wall, Brother Francis began to stroke faster. He occasionally ran his entire palm over the head of his dick and swiped back down its length to spread the wet pearls which were already beading like morning dew.

Thaddeus undid his fly, then spat in his hand before thrusting it down inside his stars and stripes boxers. He rushed to match Brother Francis’s pace jerking off.

“And what would your head office say exactly,” Brother Francis cooed, pumping his fist harder, “if they knew you were watching me like this?”

Thaddeus winced. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. Dirty talk was always a plus, though.

Brother Francis liked a little exhibitionism from time to time, so it didn’t take long at all for him to finish, ropes of hot seed aimed at his chest and painting his soft belly. Thaddeus choked back a curse as he likewise flooded himself in his clothes. Brother Francis worried his lower lip with his massive front teeth, eyes fluttered shut. “Good Lord,” he panted, patting down his muttonchops daintily. “Good Lord,” he said again. “Well, my dear,” he said, sounding a bit dazed, “I believe I shall recommence my decompressing for the night, although that was a welcome surprise.” He removed his hat and bow as he took a towel off the wall. “I very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

_Well, Jesus H. Christ,_ thought Thaddeus, _this chubby devil’s gonna lead me straight into Hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	2. Client Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Travel.

Gabriel generally delegated any less-than-pleasant task, but this was no job for someone beneath him (and who wasn’t beneath him, let’s be real). It would have been great if literally anyone else could be trusted to do it right. Gabriel hated having to take trips down to earth. He’d successfully avoided doing it more than a couple of times, but unfortunately the management of this particular issue was, specifically, his area.

As if the whole world weren’t lousy enough, he was not fond of today’s mode of travel. He couldn’t just step off the escalator and pop out of some beautifully streamlined steel office building in an industrial park in this neck of the woods without arousing suspicion. _Slum city,_ he thought. No, he had to do things the old-fashioned way.

Of course, to an immortal being who had been present for the construction of the illusion of linear time, everything was “old”-fashioned.

Also new-fashioned.

Anyway that’s not here nor there.

No, the Archangel Gabriel was forced to find a secluded spot and descend dramatically from the Heavens, which took an obnoxiously long number of minutes and cut him off from Heaven’s wifi way sooner than he would have liked. It wasn’t as if there was any service where he was going.

And then there were the humans themselves. Let’s not talk about the clothes. Baggy was in, nothing was tailored, nobody wore a tie, the color stories were questionable. (Just what was anybody trying to _say?)_

Furthermore … humans had odors.

He was attracting attention in town; again, his clothes were all wrong for the neighborhood, not to mention that whole glowing with God’s Grace. But nobody dared approach or even breathe in his direction—he wouldn’t have allowed it.

Gabriel located the house, a dull stucco thing with a flat roof. He pulled on the door but found it locked. After making sure no one was looking, he did the whole short-distance teleport thing and found the client sitting inside.

Before the human could recover long enough from the shock to say anything, Gabriel retrieved an index card from his suit pocket. He puffed out his cheeks, his eyes skimming the golden script. Then, he gave it a flick before returning his gaze.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Gabriel said. He read: _“‘Greetings,_ something something, _you are highly favored, the Lord is with you.’_ Hey, nice work.”

Mary screamed.

“Wow, okay,” said Gabriel, looking up from the card. “Rude much?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	3. Make It Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pride.
> 
> Essentially fanfic for Clio's art tbh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Update: This fic won Grossest Imagery in this week's OLHTS 24-hour crackfic challenge, with 100% of the votes! My mother must be very proud._

When Aziraphale walked into the living room just to see Crowley’s eyes glued to his laptop screen, brows furrowed, tapping one finger to his slightly parted lips, clearly deep in thought—Aziraphale very nearly noped right back out.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale sighed. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Now, we’ve talked about this. It always leaves you in such a tetchy mood.”

Crowley’s body language indicated that he hadn’t even heard the question, essentially confirming that he was, in fact, doing the thing.

“Right,” said Aziraphale, punctuating his clipped tone with a nod. “I’m going to make tea.”

Aziraphale returned, cups in hand, setting one beside Crowley for him to not really drink. The picture of the soft steam rising coupled with the heat radiating on his wrist shook him awake. “What thing?” he asked this like no time had passed since Aziraphale asked the question.

“You know exactly what thing,” replied Aziraphale. “You are inquiring the internet about us.”

“Googling,” said Crowley as a reflex. “But no, that’s not exactly it.” He gestured at the dark blue screen. “I helped build this one, you know,” he said grandly. He leaned back and stretched (not that he needed it, but for the change of scenery). “You don’t want to know,” he said at last, but Aziraphale gave an encouraging nod for him to continue. “Well, you know it’s their gay pride thingy this month,” he said. “Ton of art of us, there is.”

“Oh, how delightful!” said Aziraphale. “I have always been so fond of certain human social spheres.”

 _Yeah, I know,_ thought Crowley, _especially through the century I was asleep._ “Well,” he said, “this one’s got me stuck.” He leaned in toward the screen once more. “Generally I can find anything online that’s got a demonic smell about it.” Crowley clicked over to a different tab that had been open, a white screen now. “But I’ve tried every search term I can think of for it: unbirth, belly kink, inflation, xeno, vaginal vore …” His voice trailed off absently.

“Well,” said Aziraphale slowly, “those are certainly all words.” He considered something for a moment. “It is—in regard to some sexual behavior, yes?”

“Right, yeah,” said Crowley, “I knew you wouldn’t want to know.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong, my dear!” said Aziraphale. “What after all is the point of saving the world after six thousand years if one does not seek to learn everything there is to know?” Aziraphale smiled. “I can think of no better way to honor this respectable human celebration of largely sex-based identities, than to continue to discover, as we have done, all heretofore unexplored corners of the spectrum!”

Crowley considered this. His smile widened, his features suddenly impossibly sharper. “It would make a lot more sense if I just showed you,” he said at last, his golden irises expanding almost imperceptibly. He leaned in, nipping at Aziraphale’s throat and relishing the small sound that resulted. “Why don’t you start by making a pretty little pussy for me and then we can take this upstairs?” he murmured.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, “I’m one step ahead of you, my darling.”

Let it be known, that through the powers of angelic strength and stretching—a snake enters a vaginal canal as smoothly as a Tampax Pearl applicator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	4. Grip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidental discorporation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Update: This fic won in the "This Made Me Horny, and I Didn't Like It" category in this week's OLHTS 24-hour crackfic challenge! Niiiiiiiice._

Nobody imagined things quite so well as Crowley.

We know this, of course. It was how he survived the M25, arguably how he could stop time … but it might not go without saying that such powers of imagination also lend themselves remarkably well to some bang-up sexy times.

Crowley was alone in his flat, and his rigid form was draped impossibly over the arms of his velvet throne, and he was _imagining._

Arching his back as no human spine should, Crowley fucked upwards into the perfect squeeze of his fist. His fangs had manifested so slightly, and a curved crescent now curled into the corner along his bottom lip, threatening to draw blood. He was growl-moaning, a sound that reverberated in his chest and got caught in the tightness of his throat, which mirrored the grappling tightness of those long thin fingers.

Crowley’s golden eyes were clenched shut, and stygian red flowers bloomed across the backs of his heavy lids. He sank into the cushion suddenly, forcing his hand to stutter to a full stop before resuming an agonizingly slow pace. He was edging—desperate to cum, desperate for it to never end.

The one thing Crowley had possibly not imagined before this moment, was how good he could make this feel.

Around his cock head, Crowley spread the beads from his desperate anticipation with his thumb while he pumped furiously. His eyes blew open wide at that, and those flowers didn’t go away, though they were now dull black and obscuring the pale dusted sunlight streaming in the French doors to his balcony. There was no way he could hold back any longer.

As he choked his prick and quickened his movements again at last, Crowley noted how distant the sounds of his slapping slick skin had become. He would have shouted if he weren’t beyond sound, as he came up high enough on his belly to splash his chest. The blood sounded in Crowley’s ears, and then the world went white.

Crowley had no choice but to let that unforgiving fog so vast consume him. And as Crowley whimpered, dry and inaudible beneath the leather belt around his neck, he dimly realized that he had imagined _far_ too well that his corporation needed air to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
